Spring day

Already some of the blossom

Is falling; already small shells

Of white, pale petal-saucers

Are scattering the grass,

Settling into the gravel,

Preparing to rot away.

Already the first blush

Of happiness is passing;

And today we have rain.

But in the tall bamboos

The year’s first reed warbler

Is singing his raspy joy.

For all things their seasons,

Their blossoms bright and dark,

Their myriad passing days;

Ephemeral as rain,

Their ways to happiness.